


New Beginnings

by nathaniel_hp



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nathaniel_hp/pseuds/nathaniel_hp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little moment of quietness, peace and happiness for Sam and Frodo. And hope for a new beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://lbilover.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lbilover**](http://lbilover.dreamwidth.org/)/[](http://seanlijahlove.livejournal.com/profile)[ **seanlijahlove**](http://seanlijahlove.livejournal.com/) for the [](http://lotr-sesa.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lotr-sesa.livejournal.com/)**lotr_sesa** exchange.  
>  Many thanks to [](http://lordhellebore.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lordhellebore.livejournal.com/)**lordhellebore** for the beta.

Sam was a gardener, and no amount of adventuring and questing was going to change that. He was good at making things grow; he was no good at mending things and overwhelmed by the destruction he had found upon their return to the Shire. He was also no good at finding words. He only knew that seeing the Shire as desolate as it was now was more painful than anything he had had to endure during their quest into Mordor. Not that he would want to go back there. No, he wanted to stay here. It was where he belonged, where they belonged. Lucky for Sam, a gardener was exactly what the Shire needed right now.

Sam slowly rose from his bed, careful not to disturb Frodo. He opened his pack to retrieve the little wooden box. His gaffer had given him a bag of seeds – buckthorn, privet, dogwood and other shrubbery. His saddle bag was full of saplings that grew in hidden spots around the village, unnoticed and undisturbed by any ruffians. With a last glance at Frodo, peaceful now after a night of fitful sleep, he left the Cotton smial. He mounted his trusty pony and slowly moved through the sleepy Shire. Mist shrouded his surrounds and hid the ugly scars that spoke of war. It had only been a couple of weeks since the war had ended, but it felt longer. It also felt as if the Shire he had known was lost forever. The old gaffer’s house, his home, was gone. Throughout their journey, through everything, Sam had always been sure that once they were back in Hobbiton, back home in the Shire, everything would be all right again. They had come back and they would heal, because nothing heals like home. But then … what if you no longer recognised your home?

The group of trees – or what was left of them – on the hill halfway between Hobbiton and Tuckborough was his first destination. He crouched down and ran his fingers along the scars in the raw, cold soil. His hands found the uprooted stump of the old ash tree that he remembered from his boyhood. He had spent summer afternoons leaning against its trunk and looking up at the play of sun and leaves and out over the Shire. Sam grabbed a handful of seeds from his bag and distributed them around the stump. He dug small holes in another, larger circle around the remnants of the old tree and carefully planted the saplings, along with a small grain of grey dust. This was but the first stop on his journey, and the Elven dust was needed for the whole of the Shire.

It was dark when he returned to the Cottons. The front door was open and Sam immediately recognised the silhouette illuminated from behind as Frodo’s.

“You’re back,” Frodo greeted him.

He sounded surprised and looked at Sam in puzzlement and wonder. Sam frowned. Had he not told Frodo where he was going and what he would do today? He was sure he had.

“Yes, I am.” And he proceeded to tell Frodo about the saplings and how he had been frugal with Galadriel’s gift because the Shire, even if it could not compare to Rohan or Gondor, was no small place and there was lots of room for trees. “And the silver seed, Mister Frodo,” he said, “I will plant where the old party tree stood.”

Frodo had listened to him attentively and now smiled at him with a warmth that took Sam by surprise. Frodo brushed his cold fingertips along Sam's jaw and said, “Yes, you really are back. I am so happy.”

Sam’s heart gave a start at Frodo’s touch. “Are you quite all right?” he asked, as he could not make head nor tail of Frodo’s strange pronouncement. The icy trail of Frodo’s touch lingered on his face. “How long have you been out here? You’re freezing!”

He took Frodo’s hands in his own and blew hot air into the gap between his thumbs. Frodo sighed and Sam started rubbing his hands, all the while keeping his eyes focussed on the task. He was afraid to break the spell, to spoil this fragile moment of comfort and peace. He wanted it to last for as long as possible before it was time to go back to being the young master and his gardener they had been last autumn when they set out on their adventure. It took a moment for Frodo’s hands to warm. Sam opened his hands and placed a butterfly kiss on each of Frodo’s before letting them go.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo whispered.

“It’s nothing. Your hands were cold … and …” Sam fumbled for words.

“Samwise Gamgee, you silly Hobbit.” Frodo gave a quick chuckle, then continued solemnly, “I mean it. Thank you. For this. For everything.”

Frodo bent down to place a kiss on Sam’s forehead. Sam blushed and studied the hairs on top of his feet. He was relieved to hear Rosie clear her throat behind them.

“Dinner is ready,” she said cheerfully.

Whoever thought that this Yule would be a dull and sad affair did not know Hobbits very well. There may have been no Yule tree, nor where there many gifts. But then, Sam thought, being here together, being back, being alive was a greater gift than even the best gifts Bilbo Baggins used to hand out for his birthdays. There was food and ale aplenty. Songs were sung and the fire blazed warmth. For a few hours the Hobbits forgot that this was no ordinary Yule. Long past midnight, when everyone else had gone to bed with their bellies full of food and their hearts full of love and laughter, Frodo and Sam stood outside the cottage and shared a pipe.

“You will be mayor one day,” Frodo said, looking earnestly over at Sam.

“Oh, don’t mock, Mister Frodo,” Sam replied. “I’m only a gardener.”

“You are so much more than that, my dear Sam. I cannot think of a better Hobbit to help the Shire grow again. You will be needed.”

“Well, I don’t know about being mayor, but the Shire will be green again. The Shire now – it’s no longer home, if you get my meaning. And well, someone has to do something about that, so why not me, I thought. So I planted them new trees. One for all the beloved trees that were felled by Saruman and his ruffians. It will take time – more time than we have, for certain – but the Shire will be green again.”

“My Sam.” Frodo reached out and cupped Sam’s face in his right hand. “This is exactly what I mean. If anyone can rebuild the Shire, it’s you.”

Sam blushed, but leant into Frodo’s touch. “All of us, Mister Frodo. You,” he whispered. “And Merry and Pippin,” he continued in a firmer voice. “And my old gaffer and Mr Cotton and Rosie. They are all rebuilding the Shire. Our Shire.”

“Our Shire,” Frodo repeated, and his voice was so full of longing that Sam wrapped his arms around him and held him. He felt Frodo’s breath on his cheek and leant in further for a kiss. Frodo’s lips were cold and soft with a lingering taste of almond cake. When their lips parted, Sam remained close, feeling Frodo’s breath on his lips and his eyelashes flutter against his skin. “Our Shire,” he confirmed firmly.

Sam was a gardener; he could make things grow. He could not bring back the old trees or the old times. And, he reflected, as he felt Frodo’s weight against him and felt their hearts beat together, perhaps a new Shire – a new beginning was just the thing they all needed.  



End file.
